My mother, an ashen-faced skeleton of her former self, constantly repeated the words which became my life's mission: "You must live, you must remember, you must tell the world!"

It was a summer night in 1941, when nine-year old Leah Kaufman, the youngest of seven, was awakened from the last normal sleep of her childhood. From her home town of Herta, Romania, in the Dorohoi Province, District of Moldolva, Leah and her family were driven on the Death March to Transnistria, that piece of German occupied territory across the Dniester River, that Hitler gave Romanian Dictator Ion Antonescu governmental control over as a reward for the "splendid military operations and the extraordinary spirit of sacrifice demonstrated by the Romanian armies" against the Soviet Union. Antonescu was unique in that he didn't want to hand over "his" Jews to Germany. He had a plan to make Transniatria a mass graveyard for Romania's Jews. Within a few months, Leah was the only surviving member of her family.

Right at the beginning of this march, a Nazi car sped by and screeched to a halt next to me. There were two Germans sitting inside. One had a machine gun pointed out of the window. I was the image of every Nazi's dream child. My long blond hair had never been cut. It hung like thick golden ropes down my back. From beneath the frame of my bangs shone my large sky-blue eyes. Despite the effects of my hunger and fatigue, the Nazis saw a pretty little girl and they wanted her for their blue-eyed, blond nation.

One of the Nazis got out of the car, pointed at me, and beckoning with his finger said, "Cummin zi! Cummin zi! (Come here! Come here!)"

He demanded to take me away, shouting, "She's not your child! You kidnapped her! She's coming with us!" Over and over again, these brutes insisted that I was not my parents' child. My mother, father, and all my siblings fell to their knees, begging and pleading with them to leave me. It was a miracle that they didn't kill us all and that they relented and drove away. But at that moment, the possibility of my survival was planted within my mind without my even being cognizant of it. If the Nazis believed that I wasn't Jewish, then certainly the Romanian guards and the Ukrainian peasants who had settled in our country during the Russian occupation would believe me as well. Maybe these peasants would even help me.

The winter weather added to the cruelty. It was the harshest winter in memory. The temperature dropped to forty degrees below zero.3 The snow was up to the rooftops. As far as the local people were concerned, we Jews brought the cold and we also brought the snow. The Romanian gendarmes were brutal to us. The police confiscated our shoes, because they could be sold, and forced us to walk barefoot on the frozen ground from one place to another.

Now and then they stopped us, not out of pity, but so that the guards could rest. Most of us fell to the ground exhausted. We were not given any food or water. Bread was more precious than gold. Whatever valuables we had were traded for sustenance. It is documented that "the German military attache in Bucharest reported that one of his agents, who had mingled with countless uniformed Romanians on furlough from the front, had discovered that every one of these officers was loaded down with rings, furs, silk, and other valuables taken from Jewish deportees." 4

It is impossible to describe the horror, pain, and grief, the utter hopelessness that I felt when I lost all the members of my family one by one.

The military dictator of Romania, Ion Antonescu, decreed that death was too good for the Jews. We must first be humiliated, tortured, starved, dehumanized, and brutalized. After that, we would be shot, that is, if death didn't claim us first. We had to sleep on the ice-covered ground or in pigsties and stables without any windows. The pigs were luckier than we were because they were fed. I learned to steal food from the pigs. When caught, I was beaten, but it didn't stop me from trying again.

The final mortality rate was 80 percent. Very few of us reached our destination -- Transnistria. Jews who weren't hanged or beaten to death fell ill and died from the cold, starvation, and disease. Life became so unbearable that many victims simply gave up hope and died. It is impossible to describe the horror, pain, and grief, the utter hopelessness that I felt when I lost all the members of my family one by one.

I rapidly developed survival skills. Intuitively, I watched faces and listened unconsciously to the rhythm of language around me. I always felt an invisible Hand guiding me towards life. With a hint of prophecy, as we trudged along, my mother, an ashen-faced skeleton of her former self, constantly repeated the words which became my life's mission: "Du muzt lebn, du muzt gedenken, du muzt dertzeiln der velt vos di Rumanier hobn tzu undz geton - You must live, you must remember, you must tell the world what our Romanian friends and neighbors did to us."

My mother's words, spoken with the kind of pain that the imagination cannot fathom, became the inner driving force of my life. I used to flee from danger like a bird stretching its wings in flight, telling myself over and over: "You must live, you must remember, you must tell the world what the Romanians did to us." Numbed with fear and loss, she was able to summon from within herself the ability to empower me, her youngest child, with this universal task. Now I was no longer an individual trying to survive. I was carrying the banner of remembrance, a banner that I would not display for another 50 years.

Even on the Death March, my mother wanted to try to create a feeling of Shabbos.

Early in the march my mother very much wanted us to have a chicken for Shabbos and she had an idea how we could get one. All four of us girls had pierced ears from the time we were young, and with my mother's, we had five pairs of gold earrings among us. As we were marching, the Romanians stood on the sidelines watching us and trading things. My mother traded all our earrings for a chicken. She sent me with it to a shochet, a ritual slaughterer who was on the march. Even on the Death March, my mother wanted to try to create a feeling of Shabbos. This would be a reminder of our identity and purpose in the world. Perhaps this would infuse our hearts with hope and the strength to continue.

When I brought back the coveted chicken, she plucked the feathers and opened it. The liver didn't look quite right to her, so she sent me back to the shochet who looked at the liver and told me, "This chicken is treif." Although we were tortured and starving, my mother said, "Kinderlach, mir torren dos nisht essen - My children, we cannot eat this." My mother was desperately concerned for the spiritual purity of her children. In these life-and-death circumstances, Jewish law would have allowed us to eat it. But my mother wouldn't feed it to us. We were raised to understand that real life was the life of the soul. Physical vital signs of life did not necessarily mean that a person was spiritually alive. True life existed beyond this world. It was given by God and nourished by His Torah. Sadly, my mother and my brother and sisters never ate chicken again. But they perished in utter sanctity and purity.

We were driven on and on, and beaten mercilessly. With each bare footstep, we sank further and further into hopelessness and despair. Death seemed like a welcome end to our misery. Nevertheless, somehow I was always looking for a way to survive. The gendarmes walked on one side of the unpaved road, while we trudged on the other side. The dirt roads were mired in mud, with ridges of frozen earth that had been formed from the wheels of the army wagons. My red, swollen feet were frostbitten, numb, and bruised.

I couldn't walk anymore. I studied the faces of the gendarmes. Although most of their faces were twisted with meanness, one of them didn't look as cruel. He was leading the horse pulling the wagon that bore their food and water. We Jews were not allowed near their food supplies. We weren't even allowed to cross the road to the other side where the gendarmes were marching.

I grabbed hold of the soldier's jacket hem and pulled. I waited, my life suspended in that moment.

I decided to risk running to the other side. This humane-looking gendarme was very tall. As little as I was, I took a chance and ran as fast as I could across the road to him. I stretched out my arm but all I could reach was the edge of his jacket. Taking many steps to keep up with his long stride, I grabbed hold of his jacket hem and pulled.

I waited, my life suspended in that moment. It was decreed by Divine Providence that I would not be shot for walking out of line. The gendarme looked down at me with a puzzled expression on his face. In that instant I saw a spark of compassion in his eyes.

"What do you want, little girl?" My faith was kindled by his response. Perhaps beneath that uniform there was some semblance of a heart. He saw me as a child, not as some inhumane creature to be taken out and murdered.

I said, "What is it to you if I die? I can't walk another step. If you make me walk you may as well kill me. But I want to live."

To my surprise, he stretched out his long arms, picked me up, put me in the wagon, and covered me with a blanket! My parents and siblings saw me sitting there but they didn't envy me, contrary to what most children would feel. Perhaps my brothers and sisters knew, somehow, that I would be the one to ultimately survive this ordeal. In any case, that is how I made it through the march. Every now and then my 15-year-old brother, Bentzion, would come to check on me, bringing me news from the family and scraps of things to eat.

We traveled to a place called Ataki, where the gendarmes wanted to make sure that we were carrying no gold or extra clothing or possessions. They took everything away from us. My father and my brothers, Bentzion and Chaim, were carrying whatever valuables we had left. When the Romanians tried to rob my father, he resisted and was shot. That night my brothers also disappeared, never to be heard from again.

I was still traveling in the food wagon when my mother approached me, her face white as snow. She said to me in Yiddish, "Du bist a yasom, mein kind -You are an orphan, my child." With this news I wept, but there was no time to mourn. One mourns when one has hope to live. Besides, at the age of nine and a half, I did not know how to mourn. It would have drained all my strength and I would have perished in my grief. We all knew that we, too, would be killed sooner or later. It was only a question of time.

We hadn't eaten for days. We were not given provisions of any sort, and we had no jewelry left to trade. When I was thirsty, I used to bend down like a dog and drink the murky water that settled in the mud holes. As historian Ioanid describes, "Food was not provided…Many Jews sought edible plants growing near the roads, and often they were reduced to drinking rainwater from ditches and puddles." 5

Very few of us who set out on the march survived. The SS Einzatzgruppen were the most vicious, cold-blooded, trained killers. They used to bring their wives and girlfriends to show them with pride how they murdered Jews. It was the German SS Einzatzgruppen execution teams, the Ukranian police, and the Romanian Gendarmerie who were such experts at killing off the Ukrainian Jews that they had no time for us. Orders were given for us to stop at a place called Yedenitz, where we were detained outside in the raw elements for several weeks. The gendarmes barely gave us enough space to sit or lie down. Our tormentors had to have complete control over us, at all times. At any given moment, spontaneous killing could occur.

Although, "Besides Germany itself, Romania was thus the only country which implemented all the steps of the destruction process…," 6 there were no standardized killing procedures in Romania and Transnistria, what Hilberg calls "the Romanian East." The methodology of murder was left up to the bestial impulses of each individual general, prefect, or governor.

At times the Jews were victimized due to the political tensions between Germany and Romania. The impulsive, earlier deportations of Jews across the Dneister River resulted in the deaths of thousands of Jews because the Romanians didn't like to take orders from the Germans. During the month of August 1941, in response to orders given from local authorities, thousands of Bessarabian Jews were expelled from their homes and marched towards the German-occupied area across the Dneister. When the Germans, who were unprepared to "handle" such large numbers of Jews, saw them coming, orders were given to send them back. The Romanians ignored the orders and threatened to open fire if the Jews were sent back. "Again and again the German Einsatzkommando turned back Jews, and again and again more Jews came across. In the process of shoving back and forth, thousands of Jews died on the roadsides from exhaustion and bullet wounds." 7

Romanians were unsurpassed in creative savagery. The Bogdanovka killing center had a bakery where one loaf of bread was sold for five gold rubles. When the gold ran out, the Colonel Isopescu had the Jews put in stables and killed. The stables were set on fire and the corpses were burned. The remaining Jews were marched to a cliff overhanging the Bug River. "There, they were stripped of all their belongings and their ring fingers were chopped off, if the rings could not easily be removed…after that…standing stark naked in a temperature of 40 degrees below zero, they were shot. The corpses fell over the precipice into the river." 8 While my family perished, the fields, countryside, and rivers of Romania became a mass graveyard for my nation.

As fate would have it, our stopping place in Yedenitz was right near a bakery. The delicious smell of the freshly baked bread made our hunger pangs worse than ever. Small as I was, I was always a fighter. There must be some way we can help ourselves, I thought.

While everyone else was lying down, I would sit up and watch the door of the bakery. My mother would say, "Leahle, lie down."

I was never as close to God as I was on that Death March. I always felt Him guiding me, surrounding me with circumstances for my survival.

I would answer, "No. I'm not tired." I refused to simply lie down and die. I was looking for a way to get some bread to keep us going.

I was never as close to God as I was on that Death March. I always felt Him guiding me, surrounding me with circumstances for my survival. "Dear God," I whispered, "maybe there is someone my age who can help us." Suddenly, my prayer was answered! I saw a little girl coming out of the bakery with her school bag under her arm. She appeared to be about my age. I called out to her in Romanian, "Where are you going?" I had to speak very quickly because she was running.

When this child heard me speak to her in Romanian, she stopped dead in her tracks. She had probably never spoken to a Jewish child before. We were supposed to be bugs to be exterminated - not real people. But she was somehow caught off-guard when I spoke to her in her own language. At that moment the wall between us fell.

With a shocked expression she turned around, came over to me, and said,

"What do you want?"

"How old are you?" I asked eagerly.

"Nine and a half," she answered. Exactly my age. I blurted out the next question.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to school," she answered with downcast eyes.

"What grade are you in?"

"I'm in grade 4."

That was my grade, the grade I would have started. I looked at her books and longed for the luxury of being a little girl on her way to school. "Do you like school?" I asked her.

"No. I hate it because I'm stupid." You're stupid, I wanted to say, only because you don't know how fortunate you are. Here I was, my future and my hopes totally destroyed. I was deprived of everything, including the chance to learn, and this lucky child hates school.

Beckoning with my right hand, I said, "Come. Come close to the fence. Show me your books. Show me what's hard for you. Maybe I can help." I stretched my arms through the wooden fence and she placed her books in my hands. I took one look at what she was learning and thought to myself, I'm going to be her tutor! "Don't go to school today. Sit with me and I'll help you. Tomorrow you'll know your lessons very well," I assured her.

And so began my teaching career, at the age of nine and a half. Although we sat on opposite sides of the fence, we were temporarily united in purpose, as I helped her. During the time I tutored this lucky peasant child, I felt human again. I was giving, I was using my mind. I felt so good to be in a position to help this little girl learn her lessons - for her to see that she wasn't so stupid after all.

When her mother came out of the bakery and saw that her daughter had not left for school, she was furious. "You stupid child, you'll never learn anything. Why do you speak to a Jidan (a dirty Jew)?"

My newfound pupil answered, "Mother, she is not a Jidan. She's a child like me, only she's much smarter. Don't worry. Tomorrow I will go and I will understand my teacher much better."

The mother, a simple peasant woman, asked her daughter sarcastically, "And how will you have learned so much so quickly?"

"The blond girl on the other side taught me and I know my lessons for tomorrow," she said. Her mother was so pleased that she went into the bakery and brought out a loaf of bread and a cake. And as long as we stayed in Yedenitz, we had food to eat every day. My mother would take the bread and the cake and share it with as many children as she could. She used to say, "Kinder darfn lebn. Children must live. Kinder darfn gedenken. Children must remember."

For a few weeks we were in Yedenitz, outside the bakery. Then the orders arrived to march again. Through the freezing rain, the ankle-deep mud, and the cold, we were driven on. The march would kill us slowly and horribly. We would be tormented as much as possible. Bullets were too expensive; we weren't worth it.

About the Author

The opinions expressed in the comment section are the personal views of the commenters. Comments are moderated, so please keep it civil.

Visitor Comments: 29

(28)
Martha Weiner,
April 19, 2012 5:48 PM

awe inspiring

What a heart wrenching story of survival.

(27)
ruth housman,
April 17, 2012 11:31 PM

human cruelty

It's hard to understand the depths to which humanity fails, in being this cruel. The aftermath of such horror is that we vow, never again, and we try hard to instil a sense of ethical morality wherever we go, and teach this, to our children and those generations that follow, about what should never have happened. And then, there is another outbreak of hate in the world, and more terror, and more bloodshed. How we are haunted in our history by so much bloodshed, by pogroms, by the Holocaust, by the Inquisition and there is this eternal why, that rises and falls, like the acrid smoke of those infernal chimneys, the camps.
There are times we all feel the ecstasy in being visibly "led" as happened here. But not enough. So, were those who died led to die and then what do we understand of this, on a cosmic scale or are we simply not to ever ask this question. Do we or do we not put G_d on trial? And if we do, could it be there is an answer?
We do wait and we do hope. And it is said, there is a box, of miseries, and at the bottom of that box, exists hope. Maybe we can unearth the reason, and then, maybe the world will be a far different place, because that reason must have everything to do with the survival of spirit, the survival of soul itself, and perhaps a profound journey of soul that brings everyone to a far far better place.

(26)
Ron Chafetz,
April 17, 2012 8:33 PM

Leah's courage

Leah Kaufman's courage is incredible. This nine and a half year old girl's bravery and chutzpah is remarkable!

(25)
Anonymous,
April 17, 2012 6:21 PM

my father was in transnistria

Thank you for telling your familys story. My father survived transnistria as a toddler with his mother. Although every story is hard to tell, we must make sure they are never forgotten.

(24)
Anonymous,
January 20, 2011 6:22 PM

xlent! wow how a lil girl had the faith to do that

Bracha,
May 15, 2012 10:01 PM

WOW!!!

I admire this girl very much.

(23)
leslie,
July 4, 2009 11:36 AM

thank you

what an amazing story of the strength that from an early age is installed into the human....of any race...thanks for sharing..

(22)
regina,
May 5, 2009 6:28 PM

sinking in

my great aunt was a survivor of the holocaust and it never really sunk in how horrible it really was.She would tell us of the horrible terrors of her stint from camp to camp but as a child it never really sunk in. Now, at 30 it is finally sinking in. Your courage makes me want to do more in memory of our people who perished in that horrible time.

(21)
Keri Trout,
June 27, 2007 3:32 PM

Where is Yedenitz

Hello, I work for a conceirge service and I have a client of mine that would like to find Yedenitz. My client would like to visit the community. The story behind why he would like to go I do not know but if there is anyway you can help me I would appricate. The story is an amazing and heart felt story, I am so glad Leah survived to tell it to everyone.

(20)
Paul,
May 22, 2006 12:00 AM

Saddened.

I have just read this artical, I find it very sad that the Germans and the Romanian armies could be so cruel, and I absolutely admire you as a nine year old to help that aother 9 year old girl with her school work, you must have been a very brave child to with stand so much greif at such a young age, god bless you.

(19)
francisco,
April 24, 2006 12:00 AM

awed

i was awed by the fighting spirit of this child but most important is that she sensed a guding hand on her.

(18)
amanda,
February 1, 2006 12:00 AM

wow

i think your story is amazing and i am glad you shared this story with everybody i think it was a very brave thing to do. i hope eveything in life goes good. goodbye amanda

(17)
robert allen,
May 21, 2005 12:00 AM

THE ROAD TO HEAVEN

the image of the "old lady" and the children has been with me ever since i read the book about auswich,i have painted it half a dozen times in fact i could paint it from memmory now.i beleive they called it THE ROAD TO HEAVEN the only comfort i can get from the picture is that the people in the picture have gone to a much better warmer and loveing peacfull place.Im not a religous person but my heart melts every time i see this image it is the most frightening yet the most beautiful picture in the whole world,im going to paint this picture again its going to be the biggest one yet ,and when i do coul;d you be so kind as to let me donate it to your society . I would like to give it you as a gesture. i hope you will except it thank you very much for letting me comment on your website.love and regards from bob,and love to all those ever so brave people

(16)
dd,
April 7, 2005 12:00 AM

wonderful story

There are not many words, just tears and sadness mixed with a bit of joy knowing you over came, but through the most difficult time, grace was found in you and compassion to teach and courage to see you live not die.
My heart goes to you in honor.

(15)
Beverly,
March 20, 2005 12:00 AM

I was unaware of Transnistria before your story..

Awesome book!! I have a deep hunger to read more of these stories. One of the first books I read along these lines was the story of Martin Gray in _For Those I Loved_ I had visited Dachau. I knew about the Holocaust, but I had been unaware of Transnistria and the fact that so many Romanian Jews were simply marched off the face of the earth with no ovens or camps as reminders. My husband's ancestors come from Romania, many years before WWII.

How could a nine-year-old girl survive this? By the hand of God.

(14)
Anonymous,
March 16, 2005 12:00 AM

You faced such hard times what was the main reason why you survived? How did uyou feel when it was finally over, what did you do?

(13)
galia berry,
March 6, 2005 12:00 AM

an incredible book

Dear Mrs. Kaufman! I have read many, many books and accounts of the Holocaust, but your book especially impressed me. You are an incredible role model because with all of your nigh-impossible trials, you maintained your humanity and dignity and faith without bitterness; you remained hopeful and full of love for all people; and chose to fight and counter evil with your own goodness. May HaShem bless you until 120 with nachas and good health, and may you continue to serve as an inspiration to all those whose lives you touch - and beyond. Your words and deeds are surely bringing nachas to your mother and the rest of your family y"d in shamayim. Thank you for living, remembering, and telling the world.

(12)
maria,
March 6, 2005 12:00 AM

wow you are a very inspiring person my name is maria and im 12 years old and when i was in the fourth grade my s.s teacher tramitized me in a good way about the Holocoust.im not juish but im really inj 2 it thank you

(11)
Anonymous,
February 27, 2005 12:00 AM

DEVASTATING

I have learned quite alot from books about the dreadful holocaust and I believe the Adolf Hitler is the devil. This story was touching yet sad. Thank you for sharing

(10)
nancy d. sison,
February 18, 2005 12:00 AM

I cried. there are no words to describe the horror of EVIL.

I went to the DACHAU concentration camp for a field trip at work which i was working as a U.S. ARMY soldier.
The pictures of people who were displayed to be remembered and how they were bony skeleton. I smelled blood lingering inside the Camp which reminded me of how the dead could still speak to the living.
The smell of blood that I will never forget and taken for granted.
Sincerely yours,
Nancy D. Sison

(9)
chloe,
February 17, 2005 12:00 AM

I can relate to the author because my own father deserted us and then there was no food on the table for 6 long mos. but God sent people to help us, even if one small bread was good for 4 people for one day. the story makes us remember the Lord is always with us. Only He can give us life or death. Thank you for allowing us to read this inspiring story.

(8)
eliyahu sammy - India,
February 15, 2005 12:00 AM

This story sent a chill down my spine. We should all never ever forget what happened during those days of Horror and i think we all jews should get back to the path of Torah cause that alone will help us come to terms with the nonsensical hatred the world has had against us jews. Lets keep the light burning brightly in our jewish hearts and all i wish and pray for is "Oh G-D Please Never Again let this happen to your Chosen People"

(7)
Anonymous,
February 15, 2005 12:00 AM

Let us Rekindle the Light They Tried to Swallow!

Detailed and awesome writing. I've shed so many tears on this sad history which has always followed us. My grandmother was the only sibling left from her family of 8. She was a young girl of 16 and withstood so much torture and grief. When the war finished she had so many people who tried to persuade her to let go of her faith. But, she remembered her mothers hot tears and wishes to her that she merited to marry a Talmud Chacham, a Torah scholar. And in fact we are all proud of my Grandfather who learns Torah with elderly and you'll never see him without a Sefer. She remembered to fight the purpose of the Nazi War and sparked up the shallow light with a gorgeous new observant Generation. Oh how I wish that the so many lost souls would follow...

(6)
Anonymous,
February 14, 2005 12:00 AM

It is so incredible!!! I love soo much jews people for a reason.We, Rwandese had known the similar bestial torture except:"SNOW" from 1959 up to 1994.I feel triste & tres touchee when I am watching a movie of Holocaust, when I am reading the books of the survivors,only God knows WHY?????

(5)
Anonymous,
February 14, 2005 12:00 AM

how fortunate we are here in the USA

I greatly appreciated the young girl with the quick wit, who was able to befriend the Romanian young girl & give her lessons, enabling the jewish girl to feed herself as well as her family. How much we must appreciate our lives here in the USA where we are not tortured for our faith. How inspiring a story & lesson for us.

(4)
sruli portnoy,
February 13, 2005 12:00 AM

i have read a lot of unbelievable holocaust survival sories but this one really got to me a lot more than most.

wow! so incredible i dnt know what exactly to say. but what i will say is that hashem should bless every jewish child to have the same spiritual strength that she had thorugh our hard times which are absloutley nothing compared to what they went through!and then when everyone is strong enough spritiually to conquer every challenge which confronts us, we will rebuild the beis-ha,ikdosh with the coming of moshiach! amen!

(3)
robert Mondavi,
February 13, 2005 12:00 AM

hello

It is so sad for me to say that i like it ,but then it is the reality of our lives ,and we can not forget it

(2)
patricia coles,
February 13, 2005 12:00 AM

I have read and heard many stories like this.

How can any human survive this beastial torture?Only with God's help,leaving a survivor to tell her story to us.This must never be forgotten-all children must learn these things,it must be repeated for every generation.

(1)
Alex Talkar,
February 13, 2005 12:00 AM

Classic Article

Very touching and inspiring article. I believe that no other community throughout the world anywhere was treated like that! But the only thing that kept Judaism Alive was total belief in G-d and purity (Kashruth)we maintain.
Thank you.

I've been striving to get more into spirituality. But it seems that every time I make some progress, I find myself slipping right back to where I started. I'm getting discouraged and feel like a failure. Can you help?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

Spiritual slumps are a natural part of spiritual growth. There is a cycle that people go through when at times they feel closer to God and at times more distant. In the words of the Kabbalists, it is "two steps forward and one step back." So although you feel you are slipping, know that this is a natural process. The main thing is to look at your overall progress (over months or years) and be able to see how far you've come!

This is actually God's ingenious way of motivating us further. The sages compare this to teaching a baby how to walk. When the parent is holding on, the baby shrieks with delight and is under the illusion that he knows how to walk. Yet suddenly, when the parent lets go, the child panics, wobbles and may even fall.

At such times when we feel spiritually "down," that is often because God is letting go, giving us the great gift of independence. In some ways, these are the times when we can actually grow the most. For if we can move ourselves just a little bit forward, we truly acquire a level of sanctity that is ours forever.

Here is a practical tool to help pull you out of the doldrums. The Sefer HaChinuch speaks about a great principle in spiritual growth: "The external awakens the internal." This means that although we may not experience immediate feelings of closeness to God, eventually, by continuing to conduct ourselves in such a manner, this physical behavior will have an impact on our spiritual selves and will help us succeed. (A similar idea is discussed by psychologists who say: "Smile and you will feel happy.")

That is the power of Torah commandments. Even if we may not feel like giving charity or praying at this particular moment, by having a "mitzvah" obligation to do so, we are in a framework to become inspired. At that point we can infuse that act of charity or prayer with all the meaning and lift it can provide. But if we'd wait until being inspired, we might be waiting a very long time.

May the Almighty bless you with the clarity to see your progress, and may you do so with joy.

In 1940, a boatload 1,600 Jewish immigrants fleeing Hitler's ovens was denied entry into the port of Haifa; the British deported them to the island of Mauritius. At the time, the British had acceded to Arab demands and restricted Jewish immigration into Palestine. The urgent plight of European Jewry generated an "illegal" immigration movement, but the British were vigilant in denying entry. Some ships, such as the Struma, sunk and their hundreds of passengers killed.

If you seize too much, you are left with nothing. If you take less, you may retain it (Rosh Hashanah 4b).

Sometimes our appetites are insatiable; more accurately, we act as though they were insatiable. The Midrash states that a person may never be satisfied. "If he has one hundred, he wants two hundred. If he gets two hundred, he wants four hundred" (Koheles Rabbah 1:34). How often have we seen people whose insatiable desire for material wealth resulted in their losing everything, much like the gambler whose constant urge to win results in total loss.

People's bodies are finite, and their actual needs are limited. The endless pursuit for more wealth than they can use is nothing more than an elusive belief that they can live forever (Psalms 49:10).

The one part of us which is indeed infinite is our neshamah (soul), which, being of Divine origin, can crave and achieve infinity and eternity, and such craving is characteristic of spiritual growth.

How strange that we tend to give the body much more than it can possibly handle, and the neshamah so much less than it needs!